Birdie
by Annabeth Minerva Jackson
Summary: The best things in life can be ripped apart as easily as wind blowing out a candle.


Birdie

It follows me. It messes with me. I know it's there. I can see it. He's there in brief flashes-out of the corner of my eye, over my shoulder when I look in the mirror. I ask my friends if they see what I see, what I _swear_ I can see, but they respond, "No," or "No, Louis," and secretly worry if I'm not getting enough sleep. They talk to each other in hushed voices even when I'm nowhere to be found, as if nervous I might walk around the corner any second. My family thinks that I'm going crazy. They are all worried. I assure them that I'm fine; I tell them that it's all my imagination. But I _know_ he's there. My family tells me to take a few days off from school, but I know I'm fine, so I decline. I'm currently sitting in my room, listening to music trying to calm myself. I just saw him again, and there is no one home. It's not like they would believe me anyway.

As I feel my heart rate calm down, I decide to take a nap. I get up from my bed and take precautionary steps toward my door. I peak out from it and decide to make a dash to the bathroom. I get to the bathroom and close and lock the door as fast as possible. I reach down and turn to the faucet. Cold water comes out like a small waterfall. I cup my hands and lean forward splashing some on my face. As I look up at the mirror, I see a brief flash of him on the mirror. I turned the faucet off and run to my room. Breathing heavily, I hurriedly unmake my bed covers and jump into my bed. I pull the covers back up and try to forget _him_.

I fell asleep with one last thought: _Why?_

* * *

As I jerk awake, there is sweat running down my forehead, arms, and back. He was there. In my dream. I take big breaths and look around the room to make sure that he is not here. _I'm not going insane; It's my imagination. It's all my imagination._ I lie back down and stare at my ceiling. I can only think about my mom's words.

" _Louis, if it gets worse we will have to take you to see a specialist or a doctor. We can't have you like this."_

It's all my imagination. I need to sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Yes, that is it; I need sleep.

* * *

It's been awhile since I last experienced joy. My family is busy most of the time, and they just tell me it's my imagination. As I walk down the road with my bicycle by my side, I see a balloon floating in the middle of the road. The balloon is shiny and red. So, _so_ red. And that is when I notice that there is nothing holding it for it to stay in place. There's no weight attached to the string, yet it stays right where it is, not floating away.

The balloon starts to drift then, slowly, and my heart is beating fast because there's no breeze that would carry it. I remain still, watching it float to the run-down, abandoned Neibolt house on the corner.

Despite being conscious of the fact that heading after the balloon and venturing into the house is a really bad idea, there is a pull in my chest telling me to go after it. I want to fight it, I really do, but the balloon is on the porch waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting for _me_.

Thoughts of how bad this could go run through my head a mile a minute. I sigh as I grab the handlebars of my bike and walk the short distance to the house. I lay down the bike on the dead, brown grass. As I step onto the porch, I can hear the rotting wood creaking under my feet as I walk up to grab the balloon. I contemplate going into the house because there is something _telling_ me to. It's pushing and pulling me. I stare intently at the door, with its paint peeled off, the cracks that start at the bottom and work they way up. Finally, the sensation is too great to resist. I grab the old, rusty doorknob and turn it. The door creaks loudly from years of been unused. I take a few steps in, but then I decide to turn back.

As I was about to turn around, the door slammed shut. The force of the door shutting lifted a cloud of dust, which caused me to cough. I walk slowly back to the door, I try turning the doorknob again, but I as put my hand on it, the door starts to disappear. It is as if the wall decided to starts eating it. The edges of the door starts to perfectly blend with the old, crusty wallpaper from the wall. I tried to turn the doorknob in a desperate attempt to open the door. I turn it, turn it, and turn it until the wall starts to blend with the doorknob. I take my hand off from it before it blends with the wall. My heart is now beating a mile a second. Well, I'm definitely not turning back now. I turned back and gasped when I heard a voice.

"Does Birdie like the balloon?" _He_ asks.

"Who are you?" I ask with a shaky voice. I focus on my question, but I already know the answer to it. I would recognize that fiery red hair, old clothes, and menacing grin anywhere.

"I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown!" He does a small dance and sounds happy as he introduces himself, but gets no smile from me. He can tell that I'm frightened. He repeats his question.

"Does Birdie like the balloon?"

"U-um…" I whisper, "Yes. Yes, I like it very much, Pennywise."

Pennywise's smile widens, but then it begins to fade as he realizes that I'm not maintaining eye contact.

"Do you want to leave?" asks Pennywise

At his question, my head snaps up. The desperation on my eyes certainly gave me away immediately, but I'm contemplating on how to answer as if it would make a difference.

"No!" I hurry to say before too much time goes by, "I want to stay."

I try to force a smile on my face, thinking that maybe, just _maybe_ , if I play along, I can figure a way out.

There is a few seconds of silence, then Pennywise snarls, eyes flashing dangerously.

"You're lying."

He rushes towards me and I scream in terror, letting go of the balloon and running out of the room, searching desperately for an escape. I can't find one though. The windows are sealed shut and the doors leading outside are locked. The sound of Pennywise's laughter follows me, and at one point it feels like it's coming from inside my head. I eventually find a room that is unlocked, which turns out to be a study. I'm panting and panicking because I know he's close behind, and I watch in horror as the walls seem to bleed, crimson liquid pouring from them until the wallpaper is red. That… _couldn't_ be real, could it? But why would it be? Everything else until this point has been real.

"There you are!"

Pennywise blocks the doorway, and I twist around to look at him. I back up, but trip over one of the numerous books scattered on the floor, and fall. I crawl backward with every step the clown takes. Then I hit the wall, and there is the feeling of warm blood sticking to my clothes and hair. The blood is warm and the metallic smell hits my nose. My eyes are glued to Pennywise as he comes to a stop in front of me and squats down so we are face to face.

At the sight of my tears, he frowns in mock hurtness.

"Don't cry, Birdie. I thought you wanted to stay here and play with me."

I don't know if it is my fear or my exhaustion that is driving me to give an answer.

"Please…" I swallow, trying to wet my throat since it feels like sandpaper, "Please don't call me that."

Pennywise just laughs and I flinch.

"Louis, do you know why I call you Birdie?"

I shake my head, not meeting his eyes. He moves closer and sets a hand on my cheek, forcing me to look at him. His nails turn into claws, which almost dig into my skin.

"It's because I love the little tweets and melodies you make," he says matter of factly, as if he were talking about the weather.

And in fact, I do remember the many days and nights I would practice singing, the sunny and bright days I would walk around the neighborhood whistling, and how I would sing in front of my friends when we hanged out.

"I love them, especially when you are scared."

He opens his mouth and a monstrous set of teeth extend from it and my eyes widen, and I cry harder, repeating _no no no_ in a pitiful plea, like my begging might do something. I scream as he latches onto my neck, fangs piercing my skin and drawing blood. I'm kicking my feet and trying to push him away but he's much stronger than me. As the seconds go on, I start to feel light headed, the pain in my neck where he sank is teeth is starting to go numb, I can't feel anything anymore. But the last thing I see with hazy vision is a red balloon floating in the doorframe, completely still.


End file.
